


six seconds 'til it's man down

by honeyichor (bloodsparks)



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Alpha Jackson Wang, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, BTS Make Appearances But Aren't Main Characters, Cults, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt/Comfort, Italian Mafia, M/M, Mafia AU, Omega Yugyeom, Vampire Bambam, Vampire Im Jaebum | JB, Vampire Mark Tuan, Vampires, Werewolf Jackson Wang, Werewolves, Witch Youngjae, Xenophobia, werewolf yugyeom, witch jinyoung
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21759610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsparks/pseuds/honeyichor
Summary: “Either way, something must be done.”  Mark says.Jinyoung has heard that tone before. Mark is preparing for war.“Yes,” Jinyoung agrees after a moment’s pause. “Have you told the others?”(GOT7 Fantasy Mafia AU)
Relationships: Choi Youngjae/Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam/Kim Yugyeom, Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	1. the obtaining

**Author's Note:**

> my child,,, this is still a w.i.p. and hopefully i write enough during the current break for semi-regular uploads when uni starts again! title of the fic is from 'bullet to the heart' by jackson wang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaebeom and Bambam complete a mission, but not without the shedding of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jackson wang voice: u kNow wHaT iT iS, heLLo! annyeonghaseyo!  
> (https://youtu.be/06vnsJBXrfI)

It takes a while for the shooting to subside; someone had clearly anticipated this raid. Splinters of wood fly across the warehouse, rounds and rounds of ammo ricocheting off the walls. If vampires fed on fear, the cacophony of violent sounds paired with the shouts of the mobsters would make for a fine meal. But vampires _don’t_ feed on fear. They feed on blood - and Jaebeom is beyond ready for his first meal this week. 

From behind the ruined scrap of metal, he glances across the room. It’s not a movement but the glint of his eyes in the darkness that gives Bambam away. He stares back at Jaebeom, waiting silently for his hyung’s command. 

The goons are still firing, but the’ve used up most of their ammo in the initial bravado and are clearly anxious to get a closer look at what they think are the two dead bodies of the intruders: because surely no one could have survived the onslaught of gunfire they’d unleashed. 

_Wrong_ , Jaebeom thinks with a smirk. Raising his thumb and index finger as a signal, he nods once to Bamban, who springs out from his cover with no hesitation. Unless the idiots firing were armed with a blessed crucifix or a very specific banishing spell, no human or ten would stand a chance against a vampire, let alone a very hungry vampire. 

Jaebeom closes his eyes, lips turned upward in a small smile at the horrified yells of the men. The sounds of tearing flesh and pained cries ring through the air. When he emerges less than a minute later, bodies are strewn across the floor haphazardly. Though limbs are twisted unnaturally and faces turned downward in pain, there’s a lack of blood on the floor. Why waste a perfectly good meal? 

Bambam has left two of the men alive, and is toying with them not unlike the way a cat would with its prey. They’re injured, circling the vampire with a wary expression and a noticeable limp. Faster than anything they could have expected, Bambam swipes a leg across the floor and knocks them off their feet. They scramble for their weapons on the floor, but aren’t quick enough before he’s pinned them down with his feet.

Before he can step down on their throats, Jaebeom motions for him to pause. 

“Leave one of them alive,” he says quietly, and the men immediately begin grovelling. Humans are pathetic that way, all friendships and smiles until it matters most. 

“Does he need his vocal cords?” Bambam asks, cocking his head. His boots press harder against the men’s straining chests. 

Jaebeom considers it for a moment. The sole purpose of sparing a witness was for the witness to spread the word of what had taken place. “There are other ways of telling a story these days, aren’t there?” Jaebeom had so admired the rise of technology in the past few decades; no longer did people need to wait days for messages to be relayed, and electronic interfaces were growing more and more complicated each passing day. No, they don’t need their vocal cords.

There’s a final whimper as the weight of his words sink in, and then silence. 

“Will you find it, hyung?” Bambam’s knocked the remaining man unconscious and is securing him to one of the support beams. They’ll release him before they leave, after they’ve completed the mission and drank their fill of his fallen comrades. 

Rolling his eyes, Jaebeom replies only with a terse grunt. Of course he would; he wasn’t their Lieutenant for nothing. When Bambam starts feeding, Jaebeom feels a sense of disappointment that he’d knocked the man unconscious. What a pretty song he would sing were he awake to witness a thirsty vampire in a frenzy. 

The warehouse is still cloaked in darkness, and Jaebeom is careful as he stalks along the bloodstained walls, searching among the rusty staircases for the one that will take him where he needs to go. Most of the blood on the walls are old, too old to still hold the sharp iron scent. It’s almost comical that the one warehouse among the row of abandoned properties that they’d needed to infiltrate had been the one used as a slaughterhouse by the very idiots they were sent to take care of. After all his many years of living, Jaebeom supposed he could agree to the concept of Karma. 

When he finds the staircase he needs, the only one leading to the rooftop control room, it takes him only a second to climb it. He’ll never miss the days when he found himself out of breath after an ascent as steep as this one. 

The door is locked, as expected, but what _isn’t_ expected is that the handle burns to touch, and so does the wood of the door. Jaebeom winces at the sting, jerking his hand back grimly. They’d blessed the wood and made it sacred in a clear attempt to stave off any vampires or werewolves… Which meant that Mark hyung’s assumptions were right.

Lucky for them all, Jaebeom’s a stubborn son of a bitch. He looks around briefly, sighing when he finds nothing to pry the door open with. Brute strength will have to be his trump card this round. He snaps a piece of metal off one of the roof’s gutters and pierces it through the rotting wood, repeatedly bashing the door in until it’s not much more than splinters. For good measure, he spits on the frame as he enters. His eyes narrow as he looks around the small, cramped room. 

_“It’ll be small and discreet. Hard to find.” Mark had warned him.  
_ _Jaebeom had only smirked as he threw on his coat. “If you search hard enough, you’ll find God.”_

There isn’t much to behold, and everything is coated in a fine film of dust. He searches the electrical panels first, careful not to move anything too much. Dust clouds rise in the air, and Jaeubum squints. There’s so much fucking dust, he thinks, before doing a double take at something he’d missed before. 

Underneath one of the floorboards right in the corner, something shiny glints. In the pitch black of the room, he wouldn’t have thought to look there, and once more he’s glad for his excellent vision. Crawling underneath the panel structures, he dislodges the rotting hardwood and reaches in, fingers clasping around a cold piece of metal. 

“Bingo,” he murmurs as he straightens up. He’s adjusted the floor back into place, and nothing else has been moved. The only thing that is clearly out of place is the splintered remains of the door, but seeing as they’re leaving a tattletale witness alive, news of his and Bambam’s _visit_ was sure to spread in no time anyways. 

Jaebeom is just about to step out of the door when he trips over something. It’s a string, and the force of his step has snapped it. He’s triggered a trap.

Before he can duck - oreven consider how to react - a single gunshot rings through the empty air. His first instinct is to shrug; what humans considered mortal wounds simply didn’t bother him. The older he got, the quicker and more painlessly his wounds healed themselves. 

And yet… A sudden pain blooms in his chest. Blood spreads across the front of his shirt, and he clutches the railing and grits his teeth in anger as he staggers out onto the staircase. 

The commotion startles Bambam, who’d finished feeding and had been standing guard while waiting for Jaebeom to complete his half of the mission. He races up the flight of stairs in no time, and at first he thinks maybe his hyung is faking it for a laugh. The thought quickly fades as he sees the sweat pooling on Jaebeom’s neck, the confused look in his eyes. 

“Hyung?” Bambam’s voice is low, worried. 

“Fucking silver bullet,” Jaebeom growls as he’s helped down the stairs.

“Silver… Bullet?” Bambam’s eyes widen as he realises the implication. “They would only use silver if they know… Mark-hyung was right!” His gaze sweeps over Jaebeom, now concerned about their mission altogether. “Did you… Did you manage to find it?”

Jaebeom nods in irritation. “Of course I fucking got it,” he grumbles, sighing in discomfort. “I need blood.” His wounds won’t heal as long as the bullet’s still lodged somewhere in him, and he hadn’t felt the force of an exit wound. In a way, it was a good thing. They’d have the bullet as evidence, and would probably be able to trace who had made and supplied it. Even amidst the pain, Jaebeom’s still thinking of their next step and what else needs to be done. 

Bambam helps his hyung down to the warehouse floor, then drags one of the dead over to him. His hands shake as he tears through the man’s clothing and snaps his neck for easier access. As he bites down, he shoves the corpse away in dissatisfaction. “I can’t drink this, it won’t help.”

The blood is already too old to do him any good in the state he’s in. “Bring me the living one,” he points to the unconscious man. Bambam hesitates only for a second before doing as he’s told, and Jaebeom wastes no time in sinking his already-bared fangs into the man’s neck. At the pain, he wakes and begins screaming as he realises what’s happening to him. Though he tries to struggle, he’s no match for two vampires. As his life force is drained away, his movements still. 

Only when he’s drunk the human dry does Jaebeom pull away. With his pupils dilated from the pain of the bullet and the euphoria of feeding, his hair untamed and his mouth bloodstained, Jaebeom supposes he must look like something out of Bram Stoker’s wet dreams. 

He stands slowly, a little woozy. The wound in his chest has stopped bleeding - not that it bled much as he doesn’t have much blood to begin with. He’ll be able to make it back to their nest with Bambam’s help, and he knows once he’s there’s they’ll be able to sort it out. 

“Ready?” Bambam asks, gingerly extending his arm. He takes it with a small nod of thanks. 

They drove to a place two or so kilometres from the warehouse strip, because Jaebeom insisted on not running the whole way _“like we’re in fucking Twilight or some shit_.” As he sinks into the plush leather seat of Bam’s BMW, he’s glad he stuck to that decision. Bambam revs the engine just once before he starts to drive, and Jaebeom’s last thought before unconsciousness is that just a single engine rev from Bambam and no overkill is already a victory.


	2. the reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet others in the family. Jaebeom heals, while Mark and Jinyoung contemplate the coming storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i spent way too much time thinking up the fantasy behind this ( ˘ ³˘)♥

Mark should have expected this, really. It had been an overconfident move to only have sent Jaebeom and Bambam without further assistance. Even if the two were the most capable and skilled in the necessary violence, if his assumptions about what they were facing were correct, the two of them would be in over their heads. 

As he walks down the corridors toward the infirmary, he tries not to think of all the things that could have gone wrong. The mission had been a success, yes, but almost at the cost of one of his family, and that was unacceptable. They needed to be better, _faster._ He wouldn’t let them make the same mistake - or any mistake, again. 

It’s a cold day, the wind rustling through the thick foliage lining the outside courtyards. It’s one of those days when the sky clouds over but rain refuses to fall. They’ve been owed a thunderstorm for about a week now, and Mark thinks the timing of it couldn’t be better. Operations are best carried out when the sun isn’t present to weaken them, and when mortals, however powerful, prefer to stay warm and comfortable indoors. 

He turns a corner, eyes sweeping across the old brick and stone walls. The irony in the place they’d chosen to make their home was never lost on Mark. Built in the late sixteenth century to be a convent, the ground was left unconsecrated after all the nuns were murdered by a nearby cult, supposedly for a ritual. Mark hadn’t let the members of said cult live long enough to explain themselves, though he _had_ thanked them for having provided a perfect place for him and the rest of his oddly-formed family to lay their roots down. 

While a nest of vampires was once not an uncommon find, over the decades, it’s become a rarity. That, paired with the unusual addition of two werewolves and two witches, made their specific family dynamic almost unheard of. There were other groups made of strange creature combinations similar to theirs, but it was an unspoken agreement among most of them to stay at arm’s length to avoid inevitable spats and keep suspicion at a minimal rate. 

The building is large enough for all of them to live comfortably, plus and minus the occasional guest. It doesn’t have to be said that vampires aren’t the most sociable creatures, but due to the nature of what the seven of them do, it’s not uncommon for meetings with other associates to be held. Most of _those_ operations take place out in the front of the building complex, closer to the main gates below the hill. It keeps nosy onlookers at surface value - _where they should be_.

Mark enters the infirmary and closes the door quietly behind him. The room smells of herbs and candle wax, most likely from the healing spells Jinyoung had been busy working on. The air is tense, and as Mark moves past the curtain and into plain view, the others straighten their postures - even Jaebeom, who’d been unconscious the last Mark saw him, sits up on his cot.

“He’s doing alright,” Jinyoung speaks up from beside the bed. He hands a small vial of deep blue liquid to Jaebeom, who downs it in one go with a grimace. “No major damage and the wound healed after the foreign object - the bullet - was removed.”

“Thank you for taking care of him, Jinyoung. You have my gratitude.” Mark bows. 

Jinyoung only rolls his eyes as he places a hand on his hip while the other rests on Jaebeom’s shoulder tenderly. “I know you’re worried, hyung-ah, but you don’t have to make it seem as if this is a chore for me. He’s no less family to me than he is to you. I’ll take care of him.” 

Mark can’t help but smile. Jinyoung has always been the one to tell it to his face, despite their age gap and the power distance that comes with it. “Thank you,” he repeats warmly. Jinyoung nods. 

“Jinyoung-hyung works fast. He says hyung will be alright,” Bambam adds, looking relieved. 

Mark nods, bowing gracefully once more in a gesture of thanks, this time to the younger vampire. “You did well, Bambam-ah. Thank you for making it back safely.”

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jaebeom’s voice is soft and coarse with disuse, and he won’t meet Mark’s eyes. 

The older of the two frowns, placing his hands on Jaebeom’s shoulders gently. “The only thing you should be sorry for is being so careless with yourself. You did well, dongsaeng.” 

With some discomfort, Jaebeom retrieves something small from his pocket. It’s wrapped in a handkerchief, carefully tucked and folded into itself. Bambam can’t help but try to sneak a peek at whatever it is their mission had been to find. He’d been curious, of course, and eager to find out, but upon orders from the older members to do as he was told for the time being, he hadn’t pressed the matter. 

Jaebeom breaks the silence while Mark inspects the item. “A few weeks back, Mark-hyung and I received news from some of our acquaintances.

“Word from a reputable source told us there was some unusual activity in one of the gangs south from here. There’s the usual human shenanigans; drugs, weapons trafficking, illegal harems… But there was also something else. We’d been hearing for some time now that supernatural clubs across the coast have been targeted for kidnapping raids. Faeries, succubi, sirens, a number of them disappearing during a night out.” 

“I’d read about those in the papers,” Jinyoung murmurs, “Young women going missing. I thought it was unfortunate, but nothing out of the ordinary. What did you say they were?"

“Four faeries, three succubi, and seven sirens.” Mark says.

Jinyoung nods, looking grim. “I think I know why. All three of those creatures have something in common.” He pauses, then continues on a nod from Mark, who pauses his examination to listen intently. “Those creatures feed on the energy of others. While you consume blood, they consume the life force itself. And to take that, they have something called a _vox arca_.”

“Voice box?” Jaebeom raises an eyebrow, expertly interpreting the Latin phrase. “We all have one of those.” 

“No,” Jinyoung persists, frowning. A centuries-old witch, none in the room can deny his seasoned expertise. “It’s a different sort of voice box. To consume energy, it must have been given willingly. They can’t take it by force. Why do you think sirens sing their song? Why do faeries need you to eat their food, and succubi require your intimate consent? The _vox arca_ is what they use to feed; it’s what collects the life force that they drain."

“What would they need it for?” Mark looks worried, and that worries Jaebeom. 

“There are few spells that require a _vox arca_ , but all of them are very old and very powerful. The only other thing it can be used for is to summon a demon.” 

Bambam whistles lowly. “Neither of those options sound very good. Goddamn, why can’t humans just stay in their fucking lane? Why’d they gotta go ‘round fucking shit up for everyone?” He sighs as he takes his leave - no doubt to search for Yugyeom.

Mark nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “I second that,” he murmurs. “Get your rest, Jae. We need to call a meeting tomorrow - with _Bangtan_. Jinyoung, can I speak with you, please. Alone.” 

Jinyoung seems hesitant to leave Jaebeom. He turns to his partner, touching his cheek gently with a hand as he leans his forehead against the other’s. 

“Go,” Jaebeom says with a fond smile he reserves _only_ for Jinyoung. “I’ll be alright, you’ve taken good care of me. Patched me up and everything.” 

“Wouldn’t have needed to patch you up if you hadn’t gotten yourself shot, idiot,” Jinyoung bites back, but there’s no malice in his voice. “You think you’re some _big, tough_ vampire, but you still need to be careful."

“Ah, I’ll always have you to patch me up,” Jaebeom retorts before nodding toward the door. “Now, go, don’t keep hyung waiting.” 

* * *

The sound of the wind whistling through the air has intensified from earlier, Mark notes as he stands outside the walls of the would-be convent, facing the flickering lights of the city beyond the cliff they’re on. “We’re due for a storm soon,” he voices his thoughts from earlier when hehears Jinyoung approach. 

“Jackson says so, too,” Jinyoung agrees, referring to the Alpha werewolf of their ‘pack’. “He’s been on edge lately, says it feels like something is coming.” 

Mark nods, turning to face Jinyoung grimly. “Something _is_ coming. Those kidnappings raids mean more than you might think. What do you know of the spells that require a _vox arca_?” 

Jinyoung thinks for a second. “None of them are good news. Aside from the demon rituals, they involve mass deaths and the summoning of hellhounds. What’s happening, Mark-hyung? What do the kidnappings and the human gangs have to do with us?” 

In response, Mark holds out his hand, revealing the object that Jaebeom had been wounded for. In his palm is a single small metal ring.

Jinyoung picks it up to have a closer look, giving from his pocket the bullet he had removed to Mark in exchange. The ring is simple; made not with fancy metalwork or meaningless decoration, its cold grey appearance is altogether unassuming. 

He marvels at how Jaebeom and Bambam had managed to find it in the first place. Jinyoung had never had reason to doubt either of them, and this success only proved how skilled they were. No wonder Mark hadn’t thought twice before sending only the two of them. 

On the inside of the ring, a single inscription is carved delicately, reading _NUTRICII LUMINIS_. Jinyoung frowns, trying to sift through his memories. He’d heard that phrase before, he was sure of it - and yet, no proper information comes to mind. 

“ _Nutricii Luminis_ ,” Mark says, “ _Bringers of Light_.” 

Something stirs in the recesses of Jinyoung’ mind. “Were they…. Was there a cult named that?” 

Mark starts to nod before tilting his head with a slow grimace. “I suppose… Hm, I suppose you could call them that. The movement started in the late 1800s, with monks taking oaths to-“

“To cleanse the world of the sins of the unholy,” Jinyoung finishes for him. “Yes, I remember now. They were a right pain in the neck, leaving no bloody stone unturned. Many from my coven were lost to the burning stake, if not tied to rocks and cast to the depths.” 

“They were up all our asses,” Mark mutters, jaw clenched. “I nearly lost Bambam to them - not once but _twice_. He was a fledgling at the time, and control is a difficult lesson to teach a thirsty newborn. How did you keep Yugyeom safe during the werewolf trials?” 

Jinyoung shakes his head with a hollow laugh. “Even I could not answer that. It was pure luck that things quietened down just as we were relocated, thanks to your help.”

Both the witch and the age-old vampire stay quiet for a moment, no doubt solemnly recalling the friends lost and the unfortunate innocents who were sentenced for having helped them. The tense silence is shouldered by the biting cold, and Mark forces himself to keep his sentiments for another, less urgent, time. 

“This brethren, the _Nutricii Luminis_. We heard rumours many decades ago, whispers of a revival among those who were left. Most of us nightwalkers, including the Vampiric High Court, laughed at the idea.” Mark swears under his breath, “I mean, wouldn’t you have? It’s the twenty-first century, for god’s sake. We’re not taking refuge under the cover of darkness, hiding from a group of crusaders with torches and hymns. Times have changed.” 

Jinyoung nods. “Go on.” 

“The rumours came and went, and nobody thought much of anything… Until twelve years ago. The Vampiric High Court called a meeting in the Vatican to discuss something menial. A strange invitation, so informal and out of place.” Mark pauses, drawing a shallow breath. “It was a good thing the trap was set so badly. Many hadn’t shown up, or were late, like me. By the time we arrived to the hall, all that was left was evidence of the bloodbath that had taken place.

It was a massacre. Bodies without heads, without limbs, some charred, most mangled… I’ll never forget the sight. Many of the human scum were also slain, of course. My brothers had not gone without a fight, but they had been outnumbered and ambushed. It was horrific, and I remember thinking that mere mortals - no matter how many - could not have pulled off such a stunt against the most powerful nightwalkers. _That’s_ when my theory began.” 

Jinyoung places a hand on Mark’s shoulder in sympathy. The vampire didn’t often reveal much of his thoughts or emotions, and Jinyoung truly felt for him, knowing just how it felt to lose those who you cared for simply because you were bound together through what you were. Taking the information in, he chose his words carefully. “You think they’ve assembled again, the _Nutricii Luminis_. And you think they have help.” 

“I _know_ they have help.” Mark points to the silver bullet, “I wouldn’t have flinched at an ordinary silver bullet, but that was made with blessed water, am I correct?” 

“Yes,” Jinyoung agrees. His gut begins to feel like it’s curling in on itself; he sees where this conversation is headed, and he doesn’t like it one bit. 

Mark steps closer to Jinyoung, placing an arm around his friend and comrade’s shoulder. “It is my theory, my belief,that they’ve not only reassembled but had a major overhaul. They’ve gotten smarter, branched out, and somehow they’ve roped some of ours onto their side.

“Perhaps they’re holding them hostage,” Jinyoung murmurs doubtfully. He can’t decide which thought is worse: their kin brainwashed into being hellbent on the genocide of their own, or their kin held captive and tortured for slivers of information. 

“Either way, something must be done.”Mark says.

Jinyoung has heard that tone before. Mark is preparing for war.

“Yes,” Jinyoung agrees after a moment’s pause. “Have you told the others of all this?” 

Surprisingly, Mark shakes his head. “Jaebeom has known of this for some time, he was there with me at the Vatican that wretched day. That’s why he was dead-set on retrieving this ring, the only proof we have for now. We’ve all been aware of the peculiar gang activity, but as it didn’t concern us specifically, I think we’ve mostly made the mistake of turning a blind eye to what we assumed was a human problem that needed to be solved by humans. I intend on breaking the news to the rest of our family tomorrow, at the meeting with _Bangtan_.”

“For that, you’ll need to see Youngjae,” Jinyoung concludes. “I’ll take you to him. Come.”


	3. the summoning + the lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Youngjae performs a simple summoning spell. Mark reminisces on how he and Jackson met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! it's been a while aaa college has been so demanding but with the enforced quarantine i finally found some time to write,, i know this chapter should be the meeting with bangtan but i've been super down and could use a bit of tooth-rotting fluff with a side of historical inaccuracy :"-) i hope you enjoy!! i promise next chap we'll be back on track w the plot hehe 
> 
> stay safe and well, everyone!

Though solitary living is always preferable for a witch, there are certainly a plethora of benefits to being part of a pack. Not only are a wide variety of ingredients are always available - things like vampire venom and werewolf canines were otherwise difficult to come by - but raids for other requirements are always easier with the deadly creatures on _your_ side

Youngjae contemplates these tiny blessings as he lazily sorts through their catalogue of various ingredients. Jinyoung, the only other witch in their little group, is the pedantic sort, always insisting they keep close tabs on their inventory so they never run out of something they might someday need urgently. Youngjae doesn’t mind. The job is tedious, yes, but his beloved hyung has never steered them wrong

He’s just finished marking down their stock of deep lake pebbles when the second ring on his index finger begins to glow. The golden hue shines softly in the dark room, and he looks to the door in anticipation. Each of Youngjae’s rings have been charmed with spells that give them specific purposes; this one’s being to alert the wearer of someone coming near: the more approaching, the brighter it glows. He taps the ring twice to deactivate it. This is home, there is no reason for him to be on his guard here. 

Though the door opens wide, only a few weak rays of light stream into the room. The weather’s been suspiciously ill-tempered for a few days now

“Youngjae,” Jinyoung’s voice is warm with unspoken affection as he enters the room. He doesn’t have to speak; their magical telepathic link is strongest when within a small radius, but habits are habits. “Jaebeom is recovering well.” He walks over to the shelves with a confused expression. “I thought I’d used the last of these herbs for the healing potion.” 

Rolling his eyes, Youngjae gently nudges Jinyoung. “I’m relieved Jaebeom-hyung is recovering. He was in such bad shape when they arrived, I was honestly a little scared.” He pauses mischievously. “And yah, hyung, you always forget to restock these shelves with the things you bring back from raids. There’s a whole bunch of items just sitting in the corner of our room.” 

As Jinyoung grumbles something in response, Youngjae notices a third presence in the room. He balks upon realising that it’s Mark. The oldest - their leader - hardly made an appearance unless there was an important or urgent matter to be discussed. But, with the most recent mission having been a success, he hadn’t realised there was something wrong. Perhaps it was bad enough that Jaebeom had been injured, but something in his gut tells him otherwise.

“M-Mark hyung!” Youngjae stammers a bit, but recovers quickly. “What do you need?” 

Mark smiles wanly. “I hope Jaebeom’s injury didn’t affect you too much. I know how worried I am whenever Jackson returns even slightly wounded, and this was something major.” 

Youngjae winces slightly, but nods in agreement. “I was scared, but not terrified. Jinyoung is good with his hands - in more ways than one.” He pauses to smile mischievously as the elder nudges him with a disapproving but amused expression.

Nodding in agreement, Mark reveals what he came for. “You’re our best conjuror and medium. I need you to send a call to _Bangtan_ , wherever they are; tell them we meet tomorrow, as soon as they can get here. Do you have everything you need?”

Instead of answering, Youngjae tears a strip of parchment paper and shreds it into a further seven pieces. With a pen, he writes the names of _Bangtan_ , a name on each piece. Then, he draws a circle in chalk on the wooden table and lays seven crystals around it before placing the strips of paper within the circle. 

“ _Te venerunt_ ,” he says as he touches each slip of paper, “ _Te venerunt ad me_.” Then, Youngjae lights a candle and burns the paper, closing his eyes until each strip has been reduced to ash. The smell of burning incense fills the room, though no such sticks have been lit. The air seems to grow dense for a moment before dispersing and leaving everyone a little lightheaded.

“That’s all,” Youngjae smiles brightly. 

“That’s all?” Mark repeats questioningly. 

Jinyoung barks out a laugh, clapping his hyung on the shoulder. “Our Youngjae isn’t the best conjurer in the country for nothing.” 

Youngjae pouts teasingly, “Only in the country, Jinyoungie-ssi?” 

“Mm, don’t push it,” Jinyoung remarks smartly as he leans down to kiss him. 

Mark heads to the door. “I’ll leave you both to it, then. Youngjae, let me know if _Bangtan_ reply, please. If not, I’ll assume they’ll be here tomorrow.

When he steps out of the room and into the fresh air, the cold chill is what hits him first. It’s already evening, with the sun slipping further and further beneath the slope of the hills in the distance. He isn’t bothered because of the night; it’s part of who he is. What _does_ bother Mark, however, is the cult that will without a doubt use the curtain of darkness to commit their heinous acts. 

Standing there, still within the walls but just close enough to the nearby arch that he can look out across the city, Mark realises how weary he feels. He definitely doesn’t think he’s all-important, and Heaven knows he’s just another small speck - an immortal speck, but a speck all the same - in the grand scheme of things, but sometimes it feels suffocating. He knows his pack carry their weight, knows they’re all just as capable as he is, but they’re still under _his_ wing. He’d promised them as much, when each of them agreed to be a part of his family, and Mark isn’t one to break his word. 

All the same, to be leading an operation that looms over them with a larger shadow each day is a daunting task.

His feet carry him there before he knows where he’s going, and before he knows it, he’s sitting on a ruined brick wall beneath a peach tree. It’s only another three minutes before he isn’t alone anymore, and a knowing smile creeps onto Mark’s lips as he senses the man walking behind him. 

“That was fast,” Mark comments, turning his head to greet Jackson with a kiss. 

The werewolf grins, all teeth and no bite. He runs his hands through Mark’s ink-black hair, holding the back of his head and pressing a kiss to his forehead before he sits beside him on the remnants of the brick wall. “You’re worried, and you’re awfully predictable, baby.” 

Though it’s common for vampires and werewolves to be able to communicate telepathically with their own respective kinds, both Mark and Jackson were surprised when they found that they could, too, to a certain degree. 

“There’s much to be worried about,” Mark sighs, moving closer so he can lean against Jackson’s small but lean frame. “But we’ll have plenty of time for formalities tomorrow.” 

Jackson hums in agreement, stretches his hand out to intertwine his fingers with Mark’s. They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, watching the last of the sun’s rays crash beneath the horizon. The city begins to light up, street lamps and windows becoming stars in the murky depths of the cityscape.

The cold bite in the wind doesn’t bother Mark, but he feels Jackson beginning to shudder lightly behind him. Werewolves were creatures of the night just as much as vampires, but they were also much warmer in many senses of the word; from their monthly heats to the way they nested and lived - if vampires were the moon, werewolves were the sun. 

It’s because of this that Mark often finds himself wondering how he and Jackson ended up together, mated the way they are. They’d first met a few hundred years ago, on a battlefield amid the Qing-Joseon war of 1636. At the time, they’d known each other with different names and different lives, but neither could deny the attraction between them. 

* * *

_The moonlight was all Mark had as he moved among the tents, slipping silently between them amid the shadows. He had to be quiet, and he had to be quick if he was going to succeed - and failing was not an option. He’d spent too many days observing, crouching in the mud, and silencing those who would expose him for this mission to fail._

_He was in the enemy’s land now, and to stir a commotion would be to sign his own death warrant. Though he was an excellent fighter and tough to bring down, let alone kill, he doubted he could handle a horde of murderous soldiers on his own._

_As he passed the final row of tents, Mark eyed the sleeping horses. If only it was as easy as mounting one of them and riding off into the distance. Perhaps he would, after he’d done what he came for. There would be no reason to stay, after all._

_The General’s tent was no more grand than any other of the soldiers’ living spaces. Its status was only betrayed by the candlelight that glimmered within, lighting up the silhouette of a man writing earnestly, and not asleep like the rest of his comrades. Mark’s grip on his knife tightened. He doubted he would truly need it, but if the tales he’d heard about the General Wang Jia’er were true, it was always better to be safe than sorry._

_He’d only taken the first step into the tent when he realised the man was no longer sat at his desk, writing. In the next moment, a firm hand pressed against his back, keeping him stiff against a blade that was already nicking the skin of his neck._

_“Who are you?_

_The General’s voice was deeper than Mark expected for a man who’d only seen twenty summers. He paused, gauging the situation before him. He’d seen the General before, from a distance away, and knew he was smaller in stature than himself, but he hadn’t anticipated his speed and agility._

_“I won’t ask again,” the General threatened._

_Mark struggled. “My name is Tuan Yi-En,” he could barely speak through the constant sharp weight against his throat. “Though you probably won’t believe me, I’m not here to kill you._

_“Am I to trust the words of a traitor to his own country?” Jia’er spat, though he begrudgingly moved his blade a distance away. “As long as you have no proof, you’re running on borrowed time.”_

_Reaching into his pocket, Yi-En pulled out a watch on a chain. He tossed it to Jia’er, who inspected it carefully before nodding. He’d recognised the symbol engraved into the gold. This man wasn’t a traitor to his country; he was a foreigner trapped in a war that wasn’t his own, one of the few Taiwanese families enlisted by the Joseon army without a choice. Most of them had turned on those who who dragged them into the war, becoming spies and informants for the Qing soldiers - just as Yi-En had._

_“I’d apologise for my actions, but we’re at war, after all. You can’t be too careful.” Jia’er shrugged, sheathing his blade. He motioned for the other man to take a seat on the edge of his bed; a simple sheet over bamboo. Pouring hot oil onto a scrap of fabric, he cleaned the shallow cuts left by his blade on the other’s neck._

_“Indeed,” Yi-En muttered through gritted teeth. It stung, and he flinched._

_“So long as that doesn’t get infected, you’ll live,” Jia’er said. Even after he was done tending to the cuts, he didn’t move away, letting his gaze sweep over the man in front of him. When their eyes met, Jia’er simply smirked. “Well, what is it you came here for? Surely it wasn’t just to meet my sword and have me tend to your wounds like some sort of damsel. And if that_ was _the purpose, you could’ve just asked.”_

_Yi-En rolled his eyes. “I’m an informant, not a concubine.” He retrieved the letter he’d been tasked to deliver, giving it to the General._

_“Shame.” Jia’er’s voice was quiet but just as playful as he examined the writing. His expression deepened momentarily before he was nodding and slipping the letter into his own pocket. “You would’ve made an exceptional escort.”_

_A flush of embarrassment spread across Yi-En’s face. Flirting was not something that was new to him, but being the subject of someone else’s attention certainly was. “What makes you say that?” He countered, “You know nothing about me.”_

_Jia’er raised an eyebrow. His fingers trailed deftly down the side of the other man’s face, from his cheeks to his chin, which he tilted up to look at him. “I know what your body feels like pressed against mine,” he reminded him, referring to their earlier altercation. “Isn’t that enough?”_

_He was giving him room, Yi-En realised. Room to back out, to end the conversation and the advances. He could deny it, and walk away with just a completed mission under his belt and nothing more. And yet, staring up into the honey-brown eyes of a man supposedly on the enemy’s side of a battle he was caught in, Yi-En decided he didn’t want to walk away._

_“No,” he all but growled, reaching up to grasp Jia’er’s shoulders so he could tug him down onto his lap. As soon as Yi-En’s arms wrapped around his waist, their mouths crashed together in a wild, desperate kiss._

_The night couldn’t have lasted as long as it did for anyone else, but it was an infinity in itself for the two of them. In the morning, before Jia’er woke, Yi-En decided it was best he leave as to not arouse suspicion or doubt among the Qing soldiers should they find an unidentified stranger in his camp._

_Yi-En never saw the General again. At least, he never saw him_ as _the General again. The next time they met, it was a shock to them both. It was nearly two hundred years later, way past both their expected lifespans. They reconciled over a lunch of dumplings, filling in one another on everything that had happened since they’d last spoken._

_The rest, as they often say, is history. It was a rare occurrence for one immortal to find another, and they were nothing if not intent on staying by one another’s sides. The years passed, sometimes quicker than others, and it was always interesting to see the ways humankind would progress since their fortuned meeting on a battlefield._

* * *

“You’ve been awfully quiet for a while,” Jackson remarks, carding his fingers through Mark’s hair the same way he’s done since the beginning.

Mark looks up at Jackson from where he’s leaning against his chest. “I know I haven’t been very open with you for a while now, about what’s been troubling me.” 

Nodding, Jackson’s smile dims a little. “I trust you, and I know that _you know._ That’s all that matters to me. You’ll tell me when I need to know. Won’t you?” 

Reaching a hand up to cup his face, Mark kisses his way up from Jackson’s neck to his lips. He murmurs a “yes” into the kiss, and when he pulls away, his eyes shine with a soft sheen of unshed tears. “I love you. And I’m so glad I found you again, _Jia'er_.” 

Jackson snorts. “Yeah, yeah. I love you, too, _Yi-En_. And I’m just glad you were dumb enough to enter my tent.”


End file.
